


A Watcher's Duty

by Nym_P_Seudo



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: A certain deadbeat dad is in over his head, Cute, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Must we play the tag game? Very well., Rambunctious Child Hornet, Time to call in the help, Whimsical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2019-10-30 04:50:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17822231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nym_P_Seudo/pseuds/Nym_P_Seudo
Summary: Lurien the Watcher is given an urgent summons from his King. A task—suitable for only he—is in dire need of doing, and Lurien would never deny a request from his Lord.Though what that task entails has yet to be seen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a side-project that will likely only have a handful of chapters. It is in no way related to my main project on this site "...Father?...". However, I got an urge to do something a bit more lighthearted because my other story is so chronically grim. So, this was spawned as the result.
> 
> Tell me what you think of it.

Lurien the Watcher sat within his Spire, overlooking the City of Tears through an arched window. Rain peppered the glass and filled Lurien’s quarters with an incessant—if not unpleasant—drumming. Through the soft film of water, Lurien peered at the blurred shapes of buttresses and tall towers. They marched into the gloom and beyond his vision, creating the impression that the City had no end. In empty plazas and at lonely street corners stood Lumafly lanterns that cast refracted domes of light like twinkling stars.

With practiced care, Lurien emptied the contents of a silk satchel onto his work table, one frail object at a time. Brushes. Jars of paint. A worn palette. A cup of water. A blank tablet.

Lurien surveyed the instruments with an approving nod. He lifted the tablet onto an easel beside the window and then brandished his palette and brush. The metal stem chimed against the rim of the water cup as he pondered how to begin.

He settled on yellow—with just a touch of white. A lantern mounted in a courtyard far below had caught his eye, and he resolved to immortalize its celestial glimmer. The most difficult aspect would be depicting the shadowed buildings encompassing it, but to begin, all he needed was the lightest stroke of...

"WATCHER LURIEN!"

He flinched. The brush smeared an ugly trail halfway across the tablet. The mental image—the corona of golden light, the stain of shadow upon rain-soaked cobbles—vanished from his thoughts. Lurien stifled the rising quake in his arm and set the brush aside.

An attendant bug, adorned in the King's customary silver, waved frantically from across the room. She wound a stuttering path through the obstacle course of sculptures and fine furniture.

Lurien released a slow breath and put away his painting supplies. "Yes. Come."

The attendant stumbled over a footstool before coming to a halt beside Lurien and snapping to attention. "Watcher Lurien," she repeated. "I bear news from the Pale King. Will you hear it?"

"I would be remiss not to," Lurien said. "You have foregone the usual channels, so it must be urgent."

The attendant bobbed. "Oh yes, Watcher, most urgent indeed. Our noble King seeks your presence immediately! He has a task that only you are suited to perform!"

"Only I?" Lurien considered what that might entail. It had been some weeks since the King had last called on him. From the attendant's fluster, it seemed to bode ill. But then again, most attendants radiated that same aura of courteous desperation, no matter how mundane the circumstances. "Very well then."

The attendant bobbed twice more. "Excellent news! You are most gracious, Watcher. I am sure with your aid this crisis will be resolved quickly!"

"Crisis?"

The attendant gave no sign of hearing. She gestured toward the elevator at the far end of the chamber, as if Lurien were some dazed visitor in need of directions. "If you are prepared, then we will depart forthwith."

Lurien cast a long look at the tablet upon his easel. The yellow smear reminded him of a shooting star and he supposed that it was not completely ruined. Just... instilled with a new vision.

He stowed the thought away and nodded gravely at the attendant. "Lead on."

The otherworldly beauty that suffused the City of Tears from afar was much harder to perceive when up close. Perhaps it was the cold, pestering rain, or the impenetrable dark of the back alleys, but Lurien felt little urge to paint the drowning gutters and the rust-speckled fences.

At the insistence of the attendant bug, Lurien had forsaken all but mask and cloak on his way out of the Spire. He had not even been granted the time to assemble his retinue of Watcher Knights. It was true that their chronic lethargy would have delayed things had he insisted that they accompany him, but still, Lurien felt exposed without their presence.

A particularly fat drop of water struck Lurien on the head, and he hunched into his shoulders. The image of his umbrella—sitting dry and useless within his quarters—flashed through his mind.

Before him, the attendant bug puffed and paraded with all the indefatigable purpose of an automaton.

"So, attendant," Lurien began, loudly over the hiss of rain. "Tell me of this 'crisis'. Did the King use that very word?"

"Yes, Watcher. We attendants are careful never to embellish. 'Crisis' was His word, most certainly. That and... more." She cleared her throat and returned to her march.

"More?"

The attendant's step hesitated for a tick. "Err, yes. Forgive me if I prove to be mistaken, but I recall hearing 'catastrophe', 'tragedy', and 'disaster' among others."

Lurien awaited some clarification, but none came. "And? What circumstances brought this about?"

"It was... not entirely clear. Please forgive my small mind, but I could not understand the King's distress. It may involve the White Lady's holiday in Her gardens. But in what way I cannot guess."

Threads of speculation knitted Lurien's thoughts, but he asked no further questions.

The King would explain.

Lurien hesitated to describe the White Palace as _ostentatious_. After all, it was the King’s own project. Architecture, furnishing, lighting, the King had overseen every aspect of the Palace’s design. None in all the Kingdom could hope to rival His faultless genius. And yet… yet. Lurien always battled a cringe when he set his eye on the silvered glare, the interminable filigree, and the excess of ‘security measures’—as the King had called them.

The attendant led on through the labyrinthine mess of the Palace’s interior and seemed not to be bothered by the shafts of reflected light that regularly struck her in the face. As they rode elevators and ascended staircases, she hummed a long, flat tune that needled at Lurien’s patience.

Eventually, the attendant directed Lurien into a broad atrium. Intricately-set panes made up the atrium’s ceiling, and a cream glow that originated from no observable source filtered through its glass. There was little in the way of furniture or decoration in the atrium, except for a stout table in the center. Spools of wire, fine instruments, plates of metal, and bulbs of glass littered the table like the pieces of some elaborate game.

Beside the table, stooped forward on a high-backed chair, sat the King.

With a quick inhale, the attendant lifted its voice. “Presenting Watcher Lurien, Keeper of the City, and Adviser to the King!”

At first, the King did not react. His claws were busy at work, adjusting bits of wire and affixing a thin lever to a metal base. He paused to beckon impatiently.

The attendant gave Lurien an emphatic nod and scuttled forward.

Lurien followed.

The attendant bowed extravagantly to the King. “I have retrieved Watcher Lurien, my Lord.”

The King lifted his eyes just long enough to verify Lurien’s existence. “Well done as always, attendant,” he muttered.

At that, the attendant quivered like a bubble about to burst. She bowed again, even deeper this time, and stepped several paces back.

The object occupying the King’s attention was a lamp. Ornaments of silver in the shape of leafy vines ran up and down its bulb. He tilted the lamp to and fro, jostling its lever into place. “Lurien,” the King said. “It is good to see you.”

Lurien scanned the mostly-empty room, looking for any immediate signs of _catastrophe_ , _tragedy_ , or _disaster_. But he saw nothing except the looming form of a Kingsmould standing guard in the corner. “And you as well, my King.” Lurien said. “I was led to believe this summons was most urgent. There was talk of a ‘crisis’.”

“Allow me a moment,” the King said. He took up a pointed instrument and tightened the lever’s bindings. With a rhythmic clanking sound, the King pulled the lever, and a pinprick of white appeared within the bulb. Like a blooming flower, the pinprick expanded and shed dazzling illumination. The King rotated the lamp by its base, and a whirl of giant, leaf-shaped shadows streaked along the walls.

The light was so overpowering that Lurien was forced to squint and divert his gaze. “My lord, this is a marvelous device, but is it related to the crisis that I was summoned to resolve?”

The King shook his head and proceeded to test the lamp with several more jerks of its lever. Seemingly satisfied, he summoned the attendant with a glance. “Take this to my sitting room,  
the King said. “On the fifth floor beside the library. Do so carefully. Very carefully.”

And the attendant accepted the lamp, as if all of reality were housed within its glass.

“I do not mean offense,” Lurien began, “I am honored to bear witness to your inventions, but if the situation is serious, then do we have time to waste?”

The King watched the attendant’s slow departure, as she placed one deliberate foot before the other. Her head was bowed, eyes trained on the smooth floor, as if anticipating some treachery.

“Lurien,” the King murmured. “Do you hear that?”

Lurien strained his senses, but nothing out of the ordinary came to him. “Hear what, Lord?”

“Exactly.”

The exasperated sigh building in Lurien’s chest was becoming harder and harder to restrain. But he checked himself. Kings were entitled to their idiosyncrasies. Clarity would come. All that Lurien required was patience.

“I do not follow,” Lurien said.

“Appreciate this peaceful facet in the revolving prism of time. You shall not experience it again.”

Lurien cocked his head. “What?”

The attendant reached the far side of the atrium and paused before an open doorway. Her focus was still directed to her feet, and she moved with all the care of a tightrope walker. But as she placed another step, a peal of laughter echoed out of the unlit hallway before her. Two blurs of rippling cloth, the first gray, the second red, shot out of the dark and collided with the attendant. To her credit, the attendant did not topple at the first blow, but the second proved too much. In a confused heap of limbs and colors, the attendant and her assailants went crashing to the ground. The lamp sailed through the air in a languid arc before impacting on the tile ands exploding into a thousand pieces. Shards of glass, metal springs, and strands of silver ornament went sliding as if over a frozen pond.

“Not unforeseen,” the King said.

Two small figures extracted themselves from the wreck that was the attendant. The first Lurien recognized to be a gray-cloaked Vessel, tall for its kind, and with well-developed horns, each sporting two prongs. The second was a bug child that Lurien had not seen before. She was lithe and energetic; and bore certain… resemblances that set Lurien’s shell to itching.

The bug child flared her red cloak to the side and revealed a toy nail clutched in her claw. The toy was made of old shellwood, porous and soft. A braided tassel of ruby-hued silk dangled from the hilt and trailed along the ground.

“You are cornered!” The child trilled, pointing the toy Nail at the Vessel. “You have nowhere to flee! Now it is time for you to answer for your crimes, Traitor Knight!”

The Vessel stood perfectly still and stared back at the child. It did not flinch at the waving length of shellwood. It did not even seem to breathe.

The child leaned forward and cupped a claw beside her face. “This is the part where you run and I chase you,” she whispered.

At that, the Vessel set off into a sprint, and the child gave a giggling battle cry before pursuing. The two twined through the pillars along the atrium’s perimeter. The scurry of their feet and the clack of the toy Nail on stone echoed all about. The child was clearly the faster of the two, but she slowed her step any time that the gap between them grew too small.

The King did not spectate their chase. His intent was upon the obliterated lamp and the stunned form of the attendant. “Lurien. I summoned you this day so that I might lay a curse upon you. You shall not deny me. That much is certain. But shall you begrudge me?”

Lurien almost chuckled. “I would never begrudge you, my King, no matter the hardship. However, I am quite lost. Is the crisis and this ‘curse’ of which you speak one and the same?”

The King gave a small nod and rose from the chair. It slid soundlessly from the cluttered work table. “As you know, the Queen, my Lady, has departed on a retreat to Her Gardens. It is there she hopes to recuperate from the tribulations of the court. She shall be absent for… several days.” He turned toward the scampering child, as if just now noticing her. “Enough, child. Cease your games. And come here.”

It was not the King’s habit to raise his voice. Lurien had never even witnessed such a thing. As such, this royal edict was lost in the reverberation of the child’s laughter. She either did not hear or did not care.

It was also not the King’s habit to be disregarded, and this put Lurien ill at ease. “The Queen must be enjoying herself,” Lurien said, in an effort to divert. “Her Gardens are a beautiful place.”

“Indeed. Her last correspondence was of good cheer, perhaps even joy. But as all things in balance, one’s joy must be another’s anguish.”

Lurien was unsure how to respond. He tried to parse the King’s meaning.

Out of the pillars emerged the Vessel. It fled silently before the child and made a break for the work table. With agility unnatural for its size, the Vessel slid beneath the table and out the other side before resuming its flight.

The bug child gave another laugh, something like congratulations, before leaping over the table like a graceful Loodle. However, her trailing leg caught on the table’s lip, and the whole thing flipped to its side with a deafening bang. Even more bits of scrap and wiring were hurled down to join the broken lamp. A spare lever flew particularly far and struck the attendant bug in the head just as she was beginning to rouse herself.

The bug child offered a distracted apology before taking up the chase once more.

The King’s shoulders sagged as he watched his tinkering supplies rattle to a stop. “It is difficult to image that such a brash creature might count itself amongst my spawn.”

Lurien startled. “‘Spawn’? You speak of the Vessel, yes. Not—” He glimpsed the sinuous trail of the tassel as it vanished behind another pillar.”

“Oh,” the King said. “I was unaware that you had yet to be informed.” The King pointed in the vague direction of the child. “Yes, the red one,” He seemed to grasp for a word. “Hornet. That was the name. She is the result of my contract with the Beast. A grim consequence, but one that must be endured.”

The clockwork machine of Lurien’s thoughts ground to a halt. He could not guess how many seconds elapsed before he gathered his words. “That is _y-your_ child? S-She is royalty?” He stammered.

“Correct.”

“Have you elevated her to the status of heir?” Lurien pried. “As you decreed, no Vessel might bear that right, but if this new child is indeed—”

“Enough,” the King said. “Do not trouble yourself. That is not the topic of this discourse.” He turned to face the Kingsmould standing statue-like in the atrium’s far corner. “Awaken,” the King said, barely above his usual speaking voice.

And the Kingsmould shuddered to consciousness. Luminous, white eyes appeared beneath its helm, and it stepped forward.

“Apprehend them,” the King said, pointing at Hornet and the Vessel.

The Kingsmould lifted a wicked-looking scythe and stomped in their direction.

“Gently,” the King added, and the Kingsmould stowed the weapon.

Hornet paused in her chase once she set eyes on the Kingsmould. “Wait, wait, stop!” she shouted to the Vessel.

It skidded to a halt a few paces off and regarded her.

“Listen,” she said, huffing and puffing. “Let’s stop playing Traitor Knight. We can play Monster Hunt now. You be the squire. I’ll be the brave Knight. Okay?”

The Vessel gave no sign of recognition, but that did not hinder Hornet.

“Alright, now we’re on a quest to slay that big monster! Look, here it comes!” She leveled her toy Nail at the Kingsmould. The armored thing moved at a plodding, but inexorable, pace. “It is too big to fight. We must use trickery! Here, grab this.”

Hornet held out the end of her Nail’s braided tassel, and the Vessel shuffled hesitantly forward.

“Hold tight,” Hornet instructed. “Do as I do, and don’t be afraid.”

The Kingsmould closed the distance, and its steps sent tremors through the tiles. It reached out at the children with four hooked arms as if to scoop them up.

“Now!” Hornet shouted. She darted forward, and the Vessel imitated. With a firm hold on each end of the tassel, the pair ran two quick circuits around the Kingsmould’s spindly legs. “Okay, run!” She squealed.

With its quarry dispersing, the Kingsmould’s attention shifted first from Hornet to the Vessel and then back again. It snatched at trailing cloaks but came up short. When it attempted to take a step in pursuit, its legs caught on the silk and it slammed to the ground, hard enough to crack the tiles. The Kingsmould rolled helplessly on its curved back, unable to rise.

The King pressed a claw against his forehead. “Behold my menacing construct,” he mumbled. “Insurmountable, save for when confronted by children.”

Hornet stopped running and placed her claws on her hips. She appraised the felled Kingsmould from a safe distance. “Another triumph for the brave Knight!” she shouted, and then laughed in a parody of a much deeper voice. “Well done, squire!” She wheeled on the Vessel, which had taken up a defensive position behind a pillar. “I must write a letter to the King, so he can know of our great success!” She then pantomimed extracting a scroll from a non-existent hip pouch. “I will make sure to tell the King of your courage,” she said, as she wrote upon the air. “Now, take this and do not stop until you place it in the King’s own claw.” She rolled up the imaginary scroll and handed it to the Vessel.

Lurien watched with fascination as the Vessel took the ‘scroll’ in its grip and trotted over to the King. It extended its arm to him and waited.

The King was still. His claw remained pressed against his forehead, and he seemed trapped in some distant thought.

The Vessel waved its arm slightly, as if reiterating its purpose.

With a sigh, the King held out his claw and accepted the parcel. He even went so far as to pretend to read it.

Its task done, the Vessel returned to Hornet.

“Did He send a reply?” she asked.

But the Vessel only stared.

“It was the Queen’s duty to supervise the Vessel until it emerged from the uselessness of infancy,”  
the King said. “Such a task was not difficult for Her, but circumstances have since changed. This red thing—this Hornet—has been inflicted upon my court. It is willful and reckless, a deleterious influence upon the Vessel, and too great a challenge for my Queen to subdue. My Lady’s ‘retreat’ to Her Gardens was the very embodiment of the word. And now we remain to bear the burden of her absence.” The King turned to Lurien and placed a claw on his shoulder.

Never before had Lurien felt the King’s touch. He fought back a roil of emotion. “My King?”

“I possess neither the time nor the fortitude to fulfill this task. Thus, it is my shame that I must shirk it upon you, old friend. You are to be the children’s keeper until the Lady returns. Forgive me, for I send you to your doom.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lurien escorts his newest charges through the City. His destination is clear, his journey a straight line. At least in theory.

Lurien the Watcher, Adviser to the King, and Royal Babysitter, trudged the dreary streets of the City of Tears.

Contemplating his predicament.

Trailing to his right—and already drenched from puddle jumping—was the bug-child Hornet. The water had darkened her cloak to a deep maroon and the sodden cloth clung at her arms and back. She looked a ridiculous sight, hardly emblematic of her supposed origins. But, her hiccup-punctuated laughter had a warming quality to it that cut the chill of the City’s air.

To Lurien’s left walked the Vessel, keeping perfect pace, matching his every step. It watched Hornet’s play with fixed interest but did not take part.

Lurien dragged himself from the spiral of his own thoughts. He cleared his throat. “So, Princess, is this your first visit to the City?”

The child’s head perked up at the question, but she pretended not to hear, and splashed on with methodical diligence.

“Princess?” Lurien asked, a bit louder. “Have you been to the City before?”

“There aren’t any princesses here,” Hornet said. She stared down into a puddle, watching her own reflection through the ripples. “I don’t know who you’re talking to, but I’m just Hornet.”

Lurien hummed. “Very well, _Hornet_. Are you new to the City?”

Hornet spun to face him, nearly overbalancing. “Yes! This place is so very big! I’ve never seen anything like it before! It’s bigger than home, even bigger than the palace!” She looked up into the endless dark overhead, and raindrops speckled her mask. “Where does all the water come from?”

“From a construction blunder,” Lurien replied, his own irreverence surprising him.

Hornet clasped her toy Nail behind her back. “What does that mean?”

Lurien considered how best to explain. A great number of mistakes—many his own—had plunged the City into its current state. He could expound on negligent architecture and rock permeability, but he supposed that was not the heart of Hornet’s question. “The water comes from a lake far, far above,” Lurien said. “It leaks through this cavern’s ceiling as an endless rain. Had I known in advance that I was to be an escort then I would have brought umbrellas. If luck favors us, then we may pass a shop where I might purchase a pair.”

Hornet shrugged and returned to splashing. “Why bother? It’s just water. It can’t hurt.”

“The bugs of the City have delicate constitutions. They do not respond well to the wet and the cold.”

Something seemed to occur to Hornet and she straightened. “Spirit might want one. You should ask them.”

“‘Spirit’?”

Hornet pointed past Lurien. “They’re right beside you,” she giggled.

Lurien glanced over his shoulder, half expecting to lock eyes with some uninvited companion. But instead, the obvious made itself painfully apparent.

There was only the Vessel to stare up at him.

“A sobriquet?” Lurien mused. “Really?”

“Sobri-what?”

“A nickname. You granted the Vessel one?”

“Oh, yeah! A good idea, right?” Hornet adopted a stately pose. “The King is always calling them ‘Pure Vessel’, but how is that even a name? I thought that they might want a different one, something that fits better. So, I decided to change it to ‘Spirit’. You know, because they are always so quiet.”

“Interesting,” Lurien said. “But, I doubt that the Vessel has much desire for a name, child. Nor an umbrella for that matter.”

Hornet crossed her arms. “How do you know? You haven’t even asked them.”

“Vessels cannot desire. It is intrinsic in their design.”

“The King says that too, but I know it isn’t true. Here, watch!” Hornet leaned around Lurien to get a clear view of the Vessel. “Hey, Spirit!”

And to Lurien’s surprise, the Vessel responded. To a designation entirely incorrect.

“You want an umbrella for the rain, right?” Hornet pantomimed to enhance the effect. “Nod for yes.”

The Vessel gave a few earnest nods, the action launching droplets of rain from the tips of its horns.

Hornet puffed up. “Ha! See? I told you so.”

Lurien shook his head. “The Vessel is not expressing a desire. It is merely obeying your command to—” but Lurien cut himself off with a breath. There was no point in belaboring this argument. If the King had already trod this ground without success, then Lurien knew he would fare no better. “Never mind. Let us continue.”

“Alright,” Hornet said, with a wary lilt. “But if we find an umbrella shop then you better buy Spirit one. Like you promised.”

Lurien did not concede the point and resumed walking. It occurred to him that umbrellas were not so necessary after all. And that a stop at one such store would be more nuisance than boon.

But it appeared that fate had aligned itself against him, for as the trio rounded a street corner bathed in the ethereal light of a Lumafly lantern, Lurien spied a sign dangling from a metal awning. The sign was made of shellwood and a certain, unmistakable shape had been carved into it.

Lurien hastened his step, hoping Hornet would be too invested in her puddles to glance up.

But it was only a heartbeat before a shrill cut the air. “Wait! Look!” Hornet pointed her Nail at the sign. “This must be a shop. See the umbrella on it?”

Lurien ground to a reluctant halt. “Oh. I had not noticed.”

“That’s okay. I almost missed it too.” She crossed the street in balletic strides and pressed her mask against the dim glass of a bay window. “Is it closed?”

“Very likely. Perhaps it is best to push forward. The faster our journey, the less of it we will spend in the rain.”

Hornet disregarded the advice and slipped her toy Nail into a loop of silk sown onto the back of her cloak. She sidled over to the shop’s heavy, engraved door and grasped its handle in both claws. With far more effort than was necessary, Hornet tugged. The door flew open on well-oiled hinges and Hornet tumbled to the cobbles with a splash.

“Princess!” Lurien shouted. Despite his clutching robes, he rushed after her.

The Vessel followed and even outpaced him, reaching the child’s side and sliding to a halt.

“You must be careful.” Lurien chided, as he helped Hornet to stand.

“I’m okay. I’m okay,” she said, suppressing a sniffle. “And I already said! I’m not a princess!”

Lurien shook water from his claws and scanned the girl from head to foot. She seemed unhurt, but that did not stop Lurien’s anxiety from flitting about his chest like a bewildered Squit. Doubtless, the King would not look kindly upon his daughter returning home covered in injuries. Lurien could not help but envision the potential punishments a failure that egregious would merit.

Hornet wrung most of the water out of her cloak before making a second—far gentler—attempt at the door. Once she had propped it open, she beckoned to the Vessel. “Come on. We’ll get you that umbrella.”

The Vessel obeyed and the two vanished into the store, leaving Lurien alone to stare into space.

A vision of booming condemnations, gleaming saw blades, and menacing spike pits danced through Lurien’s mind. It took heroic effort to shake it off and return to the present. Lurien reminded himself that it would do no good to brood about what might come. He had a responsibility to fulfill, and so long as he kept his wits about him, then no ill would befall the girl or the Vessel. He need only focus. For seven days… Seven long days…

He hauled the door open and stepped in after the children.

The umbrella shop was a cramped, yet tidy, place. Several waist-high racks of shellwood ran in parallel lines from one side of the store to the other. Leaning against them at tasteful angles were umbrellas in all sizes, shapes, and styles. Around the store’s perimeter, along the upper wall, ran a bar of polished brass. More umbrellas dangled from it by their curved handles, like stalactites in a cavern.

Behind the counter at the back of the shop sat a wizened-looking bug with a gray shell. He gave Lurien no welcome and did not even bother to stand. This irked Lurien at first, but once the door thumped shut and the babbling rain was muffled, then things became clear.

The bug was asleep, slumped and snoring upon his stool. A faint, almost melodious whistle accompanied his every exhale.

Lurien scoffed, and considered waking him with an indignant shout, but that somehow seemed in poor taste. Instead, Lurien slinked through the aisles in search of the children. They could not have gone far; the store was small and seemed to lack any other exits.

Just as Lurien began to worry, he spied two pairs of horns peeking over an umbrella rack in the far corner of the shop. He drew close, but not enough to attract attention to himself. Hornet’s mistaken notions about the Vessel had intrigued him. He wondered how she interacted with it when she believed herself not to be under scrutiny. From the onset, it had struck Lurien as strange that Hornet treated the Vessel as a playmate, and not a tool.

Lurien resolved to learn why.

He took up position beside a bulky wardrobe and set his eye on Hornet. She was pacing before a rack of umbrellas, like a general surveying her troops. Hums and grumbles escaped her as she pondered over the profusion of choices. Every third hum or so, she extended her claw toward an umbrella handle, only to retract at the last instant.

The Vessel was standing beside her, unnaturally still. Its head was the only part of its body that moved, and it tracked her reaching claw as a starving bug would track a morsel of food.

Eventually, Hornet came to a decision and plucked an umbrella from a clump of its compatriots. “This one seems good,” she said. “Here. Take it.”

The Vessel obeyed, and the umbrella shifted claws.

Lurien did not consider himself an expert on the City’s ever-shifting sense of fashion, but even by his rudimentary understanding, this particular umbrella seemed a touch too… colorful.

The umbrella was decorated—from the very tip of its cap to the base of its handle—in alternating stripes of scarlet and cream. Even within the relative vibrancy of the shop, the umbrella came across as loud and garish.

At least to Lurien’s eye.

Hornet took up an appraising pose, arms crossed, head tilted. “It’s very pretty. I think it compliments your shell.”

The Vessel stared at the umbrella and did not move.

“I know that look,” Hornet said. She raised a placating claw. “Before you decide that you don’t like it, at least check in the mirrors.” She pointed toward an alcove in the nearest wall. Within hung a semicircle of reflective metal sheets.

Again, the Vessel obeyed and trotted over. It held the gaudy umbrella up before its own reflection.

“Hey Spirit, do you know what candy is?” Hornet asked. To no great surprise, the Vessel did not reply, but Hornet continued all the same. “My mother told me about a far-off place that she visited a long time ago. That place had a funny kind of bug—a dumb one, like an Aspid or a Tiktik. It would eat leaves and then sec-secre—” she stumbled for a moment over the word. “—s _ecrete_ a kind of sappy stuff that was very sweet. The smarter bugs that lived in that far-off place used the secre—the stuff to make a food called ‘candy’. Pretty interesting, right? That umbrella reminds me of candy, so I thought it would be a good choice…”

The Vessel maintained its pose, but glanced at Hornet over its shoulder. There was something in the slant of its mask that seemed almost… pleading. But Lurien brushed the observation away.

“You don’t like it, do you?” Hornet asked sullenly. “Alright, then. Give it back and I’ll find another.”

The ‘candy’ umbrella was returned, and Hornet resumed her rummaging. Although the second round of deliberation was just as painful, Hornet again singled out a candidate.

This umbrella was a florid thing, in the quite literal sense. For, it had been crafted to resemble the branch of some flowering plant. The umbrella’s pole was even bent at a slight angle to simulate natural growth. Meticulously-woven blossoms of dyed silk speckled it. They came in shades of indigo and sapphire and pink.

Again, Hornet bid the Vessel to pose in the mirror, and again the Vessel showed no signs of ‘ _liking_ ’ anything. But Hornet persisted and returned to the racks, scouring like a compulsive scholar through a disorderly library.

Next came an umbrella dyed to resemble solid gold. It even sparkled in the light of the shop’s Lumafly bulbs. But the Vessel did not approve.

After that came one styled in the fashion of the King’s court: a base of silver, trimmed with pearl, and contrasted by streaks of black. Lurien appreciated its patriotism, but the Vessel did not.

Beyond that came an umbrella of the purest white, like the desiccated shell of something long-dead, but of this too the Vessel seemed not to care.

The interval of time between Hornet’s selections shrank with every failure. The minutes of careful thought were reduced to only as much time as it took to snatch another handle from the rack and prod the Vessel over toward the mirrors.

Two dozen more candidates followed, all of the finest materials in the most fabulous of styles. Curtains of dyed silk, rings of sparkling metal, tassels of the most intricate weave. Yet, not one stirred the Vessel’s interest.

All the while, Hornet’s frustration mounted.

From his clandestine post behind the wardrobe, Lurien monitored this: the tap of Hornet’s foot, the quake of her grip upon the umbrella handles, the cut in her voice. And it puzzled him. Surely the child understood—if not on her obdurate surface, then deep-down—that this exercise was fundamentally futile. It was merely a game of make-believe with an autonomous toy. She would never find an umbrella that the Vessel truly wanted. Simply because it could not _want_ in the first place.

And yet…

“This is taking forever!” Hornet snapped. She began to throw a bead-spangled umbrella on the ground, but reconsidered and simply set it aside. “There are a million umbrellas here!” She spun to face the Vessel. “You have to like at least one of them, right?”

If the Vessel had an answer then it did not give it.

Hornet released a defeated sigh. “Well, Lurien is probably looking for us. We should find him before he gets angry. Just pick an umbrella. It doesn’t really matter anyway…”

At that command, the Vessel shuffled over to the nearest rack and lifted a claw.

Lurien leaned around the wardrobe to gain as clear a view as possible, for the game had finally reached its end. Hornet had failed to fulfill the Vessel’s non-existent desire, and it gave Lurien a rueful feeling of victory. The Vessel would follow its newest order and take up the very closest umbrella, regardless of style or perceived worth, and perhaps Hornet would recognize this. Perhaps she would finally abandon her childish presumptions and see the true puppet lurking beneath her illusory friend.

The Vessel’s claw stretched toward an umbrella of bland navy, but just as it gripped the handle, it stopped. And the Vessel turned. Something else on the far side of the shop had captured its attention. With industrious steps, the Vessel approached a rack that Hornet had not checked. And with a smooth motion like drawing a Nail from a sheath, the Vessel lifted a different umbrella.

The likening to a Nail was apt, for this newest umbrella quite clearly resembled one. Its fabric was gray and merged seamlessly with the tip to create the impression of a blade. It displayed a spiral pattern, the likes of which was only ever seen on masterwork weapons created by the King’s own Nailsmiths. To complete the effect, the umbrella even lacked a hook. It ended in a stout hilt that the Vessel held in both claws.

Hornet chased after the Vessel and leaned over its shoulder. “What do you have there, Spirit? Show me.”

The Vessel lifted its Nail-umbrella in demonstration.

“Oh, wow! I didn’t even notice that one! Have you decided, then? Is this what you want?”

The Vessel stared.

“Nod for yes,” Hornet added.

And the Vessel’s head bobbed in unequivocal affirmation.

Hornet gave a great and sudden laugh. “Alright, good! Now we can find Lurien.” She rose to her full height and looked around, trying to get a glimpse over the umbrella racks.

Lurien ducked back behind the wardrobe and attempted to process what he had just seen. The Vessel’s action had looked suspiciously like the manifestation of _will_ , something the King had assured Lurien that the Vessels did not possess. Lurien scratched at his face beneath his mask. What could that mean?…

After several ineffectual hops, an idea seemed to occur to Hornet. She turned to the Vessel, which was still displaying the umbrella as a decorative statue would display a torch. “I can’t see,” Hornet said. “Here, you look.” She grabbed the Vessel by the torso and hauled it onto her shoulders. The act was impressive, though foolish, for she nearly crumpled under its weight. “Okay,” Hornet grunted. “Can you see Lurien? Point him out.”

The Vessel obeyed and brandished its Nail-umbrella. To Lurien’s surprise, it pointed at him without a moment’s pause, as if it had always known he’d been there. However, this act disturbed Hornet’s fragile balance, and the pair pitched to the ground.

Hornet wobbled back to her feet, seemingly imperturbed, and approached Lurien’s hiding place. “What are you doing back there?” She asked. “Were we supposed to be playing a hiding game? You didn’t tell me first.”

Lurien abandoned his surreptitious posture. “No, not quite. I was merely… observing. I did not wish to interrupt your play. You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

“Oh, okay. Well, we found an umbrella for Spirit, see? Do you like it?”

Lurien feigned a glance. “It is quite a novelty. The craftsbugs of the City are a creative sort.”

“You’ll buy it then, right? You made a promise to Spirit, you know.”

Though Lurien recalled quite clearly that no such promise had been made, he did not refute her. Instead, he ushered the two children toward the counter at the back of the store, and plucked another umbrella from a random rack as he went. With utter insouciance, he dropped the umbrella on the counter before the sleeping bug.

The resounding crack startled the bug to wakefulness, and it gazed blearily from side to side. “Y-Yes, hello? May I help you?”

Lurien extracted a chunk of Geo from his hip pouch and placed it meaningfully beside the umbrella. “Two. Mine and the child’s. If you would please.”

Hornet heaved her upper body onto the counter in order to better see, leaving her legs to dangle in the open air. Upon noticing the sparkling Geo, all other subjects departed her attention.

The shopkeeper shook the lingering miasma of sleep from his brain and sized Lurien up. A few vacant seconds passed before recognition dawned. “Watcher… Lurien? The Keeper of the City stands in my meager shop?! Why, what a momentous—”

Lurien halted the bug with an upraised claw, and then tapped the counter beside the Geo.

To his credit, the shopkeeper took the hint and refrained from further pageantry. He busied himself with the transaction and vanished into the back storage room upon completion.

“So that’s Geo,” Hornet said, in a whisper so self-defeatingly loud that it might as well have been a shout. “It’s very shiny.”

As he was about to pocket his change, Lurien looked down at Hornet. The child’s outstretched arms were losing purchase on the counter, and she was sliding almost imperceptibly back to the ground. Though many matters bedeviled Lurien’s thoughts at that moment, he could not help but chuckle. “Indeed,” he said. “Geo is quite a sight. Would you like some?”

The eyes of Hornet’s mask gleamed with that rare shade of avarice unique to children. “M-Maybe.”

Lurien took up his umbrella and gestured to the shop’s door. Geo rattled enticingly within his grip as he walked. “Well, if you are interested, then perhaps an agreement might be struck between us. If we are to reach my Spire at a reasonable hour, then we mustn’t tarry. I recognize that you wish to experience all that is new and fascinating within the City, but that would merely slow our course. If you agree not to run off during our trek to the Spire, then I will offer you the most lustrous piece of Geo I own. How does that sound?”

Hornet and the Vessel trundled after him, like light-enthralled Aspids.

They reached the door and Lurien opened it with a thrust of his newly-bought umbrella.

“What say you?” Lurien prodded.

Hornet bowed her head in calculation, but only for a moment. She then looked Lurien in the eye and lifted an extorting claw. “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm... a little sleep-deprived at the time of this upload. Hopefully the chapter is in a presentable state. The story progression is going slower than I had outlined it to be, so this may end up being more than just a couple chapters. We'll see.
> 
> But anyway, thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Please throw me some feedback if you get the time. Take care :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a brief detour, the journey to Lurien's spire resumes. With a bit of honest bribery, Lurien has coaxed Hornet into behaving.
> 
> For the moment.

Hornet lifted her bribe—a polished chunk of Geo—into the damp air. She gripped it firmly between two barbs of her claw and appraised its detail with all the ardor of a master jeweler. Despite the Geo cluster’s middling value, it did not fail to impress. Its facets flashed under the passing lanterns like golden murals, and its creases collected water droplets like adorning diamonds. Slowly, Hornet rotated the Geo on an invisible axis, appreciating its every, gleaming contour.

She had been at this activity for several minutes now, all while maintaining a brisk pace down the cobbled streets of the City. Her blind strides crashed through puddles and divots, only periodically distorting into graceless staggers. Though Hornet had yet to fall, it seemed an encroaching inevitability.

Lurien the Watcher plodded behind her, his mind elsewhere. The amiable rhythm of the rain upon his new umbrella had lulled him into absent ruminations. He dwelt on the City’s sodden fate, on the King’s half-explained machinations, on Hornet’s place in the tiresome game of royalty, and on the Vessel’s emerging… peculiarities.

At that, Lurien was reminded of his obligations, and he checked to ensure that the Vessel was still in tow. No other task had been granted to it, so there was no reason to suspect that the Vessel would stray from its march. Lurien spared only a cursory glance over his shoulder, and of course, the Vessel was still following.

Yet something wasn’t quite right.

Lurien looked a second time and loosed a confounded snort.

The Vessel was not using its umbrella. In fact, it did not even have the decorum to carry the damn thing.

Worm-like rivulets of rain streaked the Vessel’s exposed shell as it dragged the recently-purchased—and fairly-expensive—umbrella down the street. The umbrella’s tip scraped over the grates and stones, dislodging pebbles and cutting rippling wakes into the puddles.

“What are you doing?” Lurien blurted, before he could remind himself that there would be no answer. “Use your umbrella. Do not merely tug it along like a discarded stick.”

The Vessel raised the umbrella out at arm’s length, just as it had done three dozen times before in the umbrella shop. But it made no move to open it.

Lurien allowed a few, barren seconds to pass so that the Vessel might amend its mistake.

But it did not.

“Open your umbrella,” Lurien said.

The Vessel pawed vainly at the gray, silken folds.

“Do as I order,” he reiterated.

But the Vessel made no more progress.

With a huff, Lurien took the umbrella from the Vessel’s grip and unfurled it. He gave it an artful twirl before handing it back. “Hold it over your head,” he said wearily. “Use it to block the rain. That is its purpose after all.”

The Vessel followed this new, simpler command without difficulty. Its mask peeked out from beneath the gray canopy, already beginning to dry.

And again, Lurien detected something in those featureless eyes. Was it… gratitude?

Certainly not.

Lurien shook his head and turned back to Hornet. Just as he did, the bug-girl let out a muffled shriek and stumbled a dozen steps. In a dance that was equal parts dexterous and harrowing, Hornet avoided crashing face-first into the cobbles. She stabilized herself with outstretched arms and resumed walking as if nothing had happened.

Lurien growled disapproval and hastened to Hornet’s side. That was one near-miss too many. “Princ—Erm, Hornet, perhaps now is not the ideal time to admire your Geo. You nearly fell.”

“I’ll be alright,” Hornet replied, her gaze still locked on her prize. “My balance is great! Didn’t you see?”

“I witnessed you nearly crack your shell like a piece of pottery, if that is your meaning.”

“Don’t be so scared.” Hornet waved dismissively. “I won’t fall.”

Lurien took a moment to consider his position. Just as the King had warned, Hornet’s willfulness was becoming a formidable obstacle. He suspected that harsh words and threats of punishment would coerce the girl into civility but doing so would surely foster resentment. Lurien could not afford to make an enemy of his charge so early in its keeping.

He decided to alter his approach. “Your poise is excellent, this is true. But consider that if the nigh-impossible occurs and you lose your balance, then that Geo might be lost forever. If it were to fall into the sewer, then there would be no recovering it. And I do not have a replacement.”

Hornet closed her claw around the Geo and pressed it against her chest. “Oh, I didn’t think of that.”

Lurien allowed himself a moment to bask in diplomatic triumph. “There will be an abundance of time to examine your Geo when we arrive at the Spire. Until then, please watch your step.”

Hornet hummed a sort of consent and stowed the Geo chunk in a hidden pocket within her cloak.

For three enchanting minutes, the trio walked in quiet and in safety. Lurien was tempted to allow his thoughts to drift once more, but from the fidget in Hornet’s stride, it seemed she required distraction.

“So, Hornet,” Lurien began, before a subject had even occurred to him. “You are… unfamiliar with Geo, yes? Is today truly the first time that you have laid eyes upon it?”

Hornet took up an awkward, sideways walk, so that she might face Lurien and the far-off Spire at the same time. “Yes, I was surprised at how pretty it was. It’s such a strange kind of rock.”

“A rock? Though that is true in the technical sense, Geo is in fact a fossil.”

“What’s a fossil?” Hornet asked.

“An excellent question.” Lurien said, a scholarly inflection seeping its way into his voice. “You see, when an organism dies, its shell remains behind. If that shell is buried beneath mineral-rich sediment, then over a period of many thousand years the minerals will permeate the—”

“Wait, wait,” Hornet waved her claws as if fending off attacks. “I changed my mind! I don’t want to know!”

“—Oh,” Lurien swallowed his explanation like a lump of clay. “I see. Very well then.”

“It’s just that in Deepnest we never used Geo,” Hornet said, in a half-apologetic quaver. “It looks nice, but in the end it’s just a rock. It’s kind of useless don’t you think?”

Lurien considered the arbitrary manner by which worth was measured. The merchants and patricians of the City salivated at the mere idea of Geo, but to the mind of this child it was nothing more than a ‘useless rock’. He chuckled. “Does Deepnest not possess a prevailing unit of currency?”

Hornet scratched at her head. “Huh?”

“Does it not have money?” Lurien clarified.

“Oh, right. For trading? Yes, we have that. We use silk for everything. I guess silk is to us what Geo is to you. But I think silk is still a lot more useful. The Weavers can turn it into all kinds of things: shields and Nails and clothes.”

Lurien tapped a claw against his mask. “Interesting. I did not realize that Deepnest’s primary export was also its main form of currency. Perhaps an oversight of mine.”

“And silk isn’t just for making useful stuff,” Hornet continued, “but pretty stuff too!” She drew her toy Nail and displayed its ruby-red tassel. “My mother had the Weavers make this for me. Isn’t the pattern nice?”

Her mother.

The Beast.

Consort of the King.

It took a lurching effort to reconcile these disparate elements in Lurien’s mind. The Beast’s reputation for martial ferocity and political guile seemed a poor fit for _‘mother_ ’. But here Hornet was, proof of that. Lurien failed to imagine whatever immense fee the King had extracted from the Beast to render their contract equitable.

At Lurien’s excessive pause, Hornet tilted her head.

“I-It is quite beautiful,” Lurien sputtered. “Those Weavers of which you speak must be incomparable artisans. Is… Is it your mother’s usual habit to provide you with such gifts?”

The tilt to Hornet’s head became a droop. “Um, no. This was special.” She embraced the toy Nail like a silken doll. “Mother gave it to me before she—before I had to come here.”

An inquisitive impulse overrode Lurien’s good sense. “And why were you sent here, Hornet? Did something happen?”

The girl shrugged. “I guess.” She let out a hurried, abrasive sort of laugh and turned away from him. “So, I had a question about Geo. Is it true that you can trade it for anything? Anything at all?”

Lurien restrained himself from prying further. “Yes, I suppose so. The City’s more affluent bugs are fond of the phrase ‘everything has a price’. In some aspects this is the truth. Has a purpose for your Geo occurred to you?”

“Maybe.”

“If you behave, then tomorrow we will venture into the City’s trade district. You will find a veritable panoply of trinkets and toys there.”

Hornet gave a distracted nod and settled back to silence.

Several city blocks passed by, their buildings looming out of the dark like sentinels upon tall battlements. The trio passed residential areas, urban parks, and public plazas, but caught sight of no other pedestrians. It felt as if they’d slipped into some phantom realm devoid of all other life.

Eventually, an incongruous sound pierced through the perpetual sibilance of the rain. It was so faint that Lurien would have disregarded it, had Hornet not jerked to a halt and set her gaze down a tangent street.

The sound was intermittent and metallic. Perhaps some distant bell? The distorting effect of the rain made it difficult to determine.

“What is it, Hornet? Do you—”

But like a clap of thunder, the girl was off.

There wasn’t even enough time for Lurien to snatch a breath and bellow objections before Hornet rounded a corner and vanished from sight.

The Vessel did not follow her example but it leaned after her as if straining against an imaginary chain.

To Lurien’s surprise, he felt no indignation, no molten ball of outrage wedged squarely in his chest. Just an enduring acceptance, not unlike his sentiment on the rain.

“Should I take solace that she honored our agreement for as long as she did?” Lurien asked, the question posed to no one.

The Vessel glanced up at him but kept its unknowable reply to itself.

“Right. Follow me, Vessel. Do so with haste and remain close.” Lurien set off after the girl, as quickly as his feeble body and vexatious robes would allow.

He pounded down the narrow streets, beneath the dripping arms of awnings, and through the deep shadows of skybridges. It took only a few moments of activity to set Lurien’s limbs to burning. He gasped for air and pressed a claw against his aching side. What an uncouth sight he imagined himself to be. If anyone witnessed him blundering through the streets, then the subsequent gossip would spread like flames through a bramble patch.

Again, Lurien lamented the absence of his Watcher Knights. If they had been at his side, then apprehending Hornet would have required no more than a gesture. But as fate had turned, his Knights were nowhere to be seen, and he had only his own enervated legs to rely upon.

The maroon smear of Hornet’s cloak taunted Lurien with every turned corner. Despite his lack of athletic skill, he managed not to lose her trail, but that mattered little when he had no hope of catching her.

He was fortunate that there were no alleyways to complicate the chase. The residential districts through which he sprinted were all tight-packed houses and tenement buildings. Yet, for all his efforts, Lurien’s strength flagged and Hornet eventually slipped from sight.

Wheezing and tottering, Lurien careened around an intersection and nearly slammed mask-first into a signpost. He managed—in a rather unflattering way—to evade the head injury, and wrap his arms around the signpost’s corroded, iron base.

The Vessel scampered to his side, without a hint of strain in its breathing. The Nail-umbrella was still high over its head, like the banner of a parade marcher.

“By the King, you’re tireless,” Lurien rasped.

The Vessel did not accept the compliment.

Lurien pushed off from the signpost and attempted to compose himself. After a few deep breaths, he scanned the area for any traces of fugitive princesses.

He stood in the center of a six-way crossing that swirled pleasingly into a roundabout. There were no carts or bugs of burden, no passersby or vagrants, and certainly no princesses. In one way this was a blessing. There had been no one to witness Lurien’s oafish entrance. But in another it was a curse. He had no guiding claws to point out which path Hornet had taken.

Lurien sized up each street, hoping beyond hope for some hint. It did not please him that his only chance of finding Hornet lie in a one-in-five guess. He deliberated for a moment, chin in claw, all the while acutely aware that every second wasted was one more step’s distance between himself and his charge.

Just as Lurien was about to set out at random, a keening sound drilled into his perception. It was the same metallic note that had instigated this entire mess. Now, it was much louder—closer. From this distance it took only an instant to recognize what it was.

The clang of a hammer upon an anvil.

The glaringly evident reared up before Lurien like an old, embarrassing memory. And he knew Hornet’s destination. Sparing only enough time to glance up at the signpost and confirm the direction of the trade district, Lurien set off with all speed.

The Vessel remained close behind.

In contrast to the inexplicably desolate streets Lurien had so far walked, the trade district was a frenzy of activity. Innumerable bugs of all societal class brushed shoulders in a churning sea of commerce. Umbrellas were clutched in every visible claw, and they drifted over the bugs’ heads like a kaleidoscopic bank of clouds. An incessant chiming of bells filled the air as customers entered and exited shops in clockwork repetition.

Lurien peered through the chaos in search of Hornet’s cloak. He startled more than once, thinking that he had found her, only to realize that it was some other bug dressed in a similar hue. The futility of the task soon became clear, and he instead focused his senses on the ambient wail of metal being tortured into form.

It required a fair deal of shoving for Lurien to navigate his way through the crowds. Many a bug chittered acrimoniously at him, only to then recognize who he was and mumble immediate apology. He hoped that no curious onlookers would trail after him. The least that Lurien needed was for the City’s bored nobles to learn that he was playing custodian to some mysterious child. But Lurien did not look back to indulge his paranoia and elbowed onward.

The Nailsmith’s shop occupied the central square of the trade district like a lone boulder in a field. It was an imposing, brick structure of rough-hewn stones. Out of its domed roof sprouted a chimney that spewed soot like the proboscis of some enormous beast. An iron sign in the shape of a Nail hung out over the main entrance.

If Lurien had nothing else to say about Hornet, she was at least unswerving in her intent. He could hear her treble through the shop’s doorway, loud and inquisitive.

Lurien stepped inside, shook his umbrella, and closed it with a snap.

The interior of the shop smelled of smoke and hot metal. Various weapons were mounted upon the walls like the trophies of a great hunter. The back of the shop was occupied by a ceiling-high forge and attached bellows. A wizened-looking beetle sat before the crackling coals and beat a hammer-song upon a rusted anvil.

Beside the beetle stood Hornet. She held her chunk of Geo in one claw and pointed exuberantly with the other.

“And what’s that one?” Hornet asked, pointing to a Nail nearly twice her size.

“Greatnail,” the beetle grunted.

“How much does it cost?”

“Too big.”

“I know that,” Hornet puffed. “But pretend that it isn’t.”

“Four thousand.”

Hornet shot a dubious look at her Geo chunk. “Okay, maybe not that one. But what about this one over here?”

The beetle spared a glance. “Longnail. Also too big.”

“I’m just asking!” Hornet said, with a half-stomp of her foot.

“Three thousand.”

Hornet assessed her Geo chunk a second time. “What will this get me?” She extended it before the beetle’s face.

The invariable rhythm of hammering ceased, and a quietude surged in to replace it. The beetle took the offered Geo and rolled it in his claw. After a moment’s thought, he pointed to a barrel, out of which protruded the hilts of several shellwood Nails. They looked much denser than Hornet’s, to the point that they might be suitable for sparring.

“No way!” Hornet shouted, before snatching the Geo from the beetle’s claw. “I’m here to buy a Nail, not a toy!”

The beetle shrugged and resumed hammering.

Hornet crossed her arms and tramped off, making a show of being interested by a nearby weapon rack.

Lurien waited in the doorway and adopted an identical, cross-armed posture of displeasure. Hornet did not notice him standing there, however, so he made his presence known with a gravely cough.

Hornet almost jolted out of her cloak. She wheeled around to face Lurien. “Oh! It’s you! Um, hi! How did you find me?”

“With great difficulty,” Lurien growled. He strode across the Nail shop and took a firm grip of Hornet’s arm. He would not have her running off before they could exchange words. “That was supremely impetuous of you, child. You cannot range half the length of the City on a whim. You have neither the experience nor the authority to do so. The King—” Lurien’s voice dipped to a whisper and he shot a covert look at the beetle across the shop “—your _father_ , has granted me guardianship over you, and until He deems otherwise you _will_ obey my direction. Do you understand?”

“I just wanted to spend my Geo,” Hornet mumbled.

“Do you understand!?”

“Yes, okay!”

Lurien relinquished Hornet’s arm and let the remainder of his ire slip out as a heated sigh. “Good. Though I may not look it, I am a time-worn bug. I have invested many of my years in service to this kingdom, and my aching shell is not suited to miles-long footraces through the pounding rain. You would be kind to remember that.”

“I’m sorry,” Hornet said, with her first real flicker of sincerity. “I was just excited is all.”

“Yes, most could have perceived that by the length of your stride. But the next time that you are tempted to charge off, stop to consider those in your company first.” Lurien turned about to gesture at the Vessel. “Why, I and the Ves—”

A cold chill ascended Lurien’s back. For the Vessel was not there.

Hornet leaned to and fro, as if the Vessel might be hiding behind Lurien’s slender frame. “Did you lose Spirit?” She asked bluntly.

“It… appears that I have,” Lurien breathed. “But it was here just a moment ago…”

Hornet snickered. “Yeah, they wander off sometimes.”

Lurien wheeled back to face her. “This has transpired before!?”

“Mmhm. Plenty of times. But don’t worry, they’ll come back when they feel like it.”

“Forgive me for not sharing that confidence!” Lurien took Hornet by the claw. “Come. We must retrace our steps and recover the Vessel. It is in my care just as you are, and I cannot allow it to wander the streets!”

Hornet wormed her claw free and scurried back. “No, wait. I need to buy my Nail first!”

“Preposterous! A princess has no need for a lethal weapon.”

“Right!” Hornet nodded. “And since I’m not a princess, that means I _do_ need a Nail!”

Lurien was taken aback by that twist in logic. He replayed their conversation in his mind, searching for that point of fundamental disconnect. After a pause he shook his head. “We have no time for games. A Nail is dangerous and needless. You may not have one. Now come along.”

Hornet retreated another step. “But what about the Geo you gave me? It’s mine, right? I can spend it on what I want! And I want a Nail!”

“As you may recall,” Lurien admonished, “the conditions of our agreement required that you not leave my side before we reached the Spire. You voided that agreement the moment that you scampered off. Thus, that Geo is no longer yours and you must return it.” He lifted an extorting claw. “You cannot purchase a Nail without any money, so cease this quibbling and follow me. The Vessel may very well be in jeopardy.”

Hornet clasped her Geo in both claws. “N-No, that’s—that’s not fair!”

“It is entirely fair!”

Hornet’s breath hitched. “Then h-how will I get my Nail?”

“That answer is simple,” Lurien blared. “You will not!” He plucked the Geo from Hornet’s claws and pocketed it.

“But—But—”

And the girl began to cry.

It was not loud, nor was it histrionic. Hornet merely hung her head and cupped the eyes of her mask with one claw. A low mewling—barely even audible—leaked from her like rain through a fractured skylight.

At the advent of this newest calamity, all awareness of the Vessel left Lurien’s mind. He had never borne witness to a child’s anguish before, and he had _certainly_ never been the direct cause of it. To Lurien it felt as though Hornet were some unfathomable machine on the verge of implosion, and only he could repair it.

Although Lurien was aware that the young often shed Mawlek tears when they did not get their way, Hornet exuded such a pure aura of grief that it denied any such possibility.

Above everything, Lurien knew that the tears must stop, if only for his own sake.

“Now, now, hush. Do not—Do not weep,” Lurien said, in as soothing a voice as he could muster. “It is only a Nail, a sharpened block of metal. It is no great treasure.”

“But it is,” Hornet snuffled. “It really is.”

“Why do you fixate so? It cannot mean this much to you. Does your toy Nail no longer please you?”

“No, no. That isn’t it. I just—” Hornet took a breath, and her claw twined the tassel of her shellwood Nail. “When my mother gave me this, she said that she would have to go to sleep for a very long time. And that I had to go live in Hallownest with my f-father. She said that when I was all grown up she’d wake up, and that I could ha-have a _real_ Nail, not just a toy.”

Sleep?

Lurien stiffened.

“But when I got here, and I asked the King how l-long my mother would sleep, he said forever! That she would never w-wake up! And that I would never go home!”

And Lurien finally discerned the terms of the King’s contract with the Beast. Even as the implications turned his stomach, he could not help but admire the perfection of it. What a masterstroke it was, to bend a rival and a threat into the most critical of allies.

Herrah the Beast? No. Herrah the Dreamer.

The King had sent her ahead, to carve the bounds of the dream-prison that would be Hallownest’s salvation. And it stung Lurien, in a way that he did not expect. For although Lurien himself had been the very first to take the pledge of Dreamer, Herrah had been the one chosen to pave the way.

All for the sake of this lone child.

“So, do you s-see?” Hornet asked, with a voice so thick that it was nearly unintelligible. “I need a Nail so I can show that I’m b-big and strong! Not some little princess, but a grown up! And then if—if I can do that, then m-maybe mother will—” But she could not finish, for Lurien knelt and encompassed her in his arms. She froze, the sobs and broken words crystallizing within her.

“That is enough of that,” Lurien whispered. “No more weeping.”

“Are you mad?” Hornet’s question came out muffled by Lurien’s shoulder.

“At you? Never. I cannot begrudge my King, so I certainly cannot begrudge his children.”

After the span of a heartbeat, Hornet returned the embrace. She let out a sigh, long and tortured, but by its end the tremble had left her body.

“What now?” she asked.

Lurien released her and stood. He brushed at his soot-stained robes as he stalled to think. “Because our previous agreement was annulled… perhaps we should strike a new one. If it is your desire to prove that you are a grown-up worthy of owning a Nail, then I will allow you an opportunity to do just that. For the next seven days we are to be companions. If over that interval you carry yourself as a grown-up would—with dignity, restraint, and tact—then on our way back to the Palace I will purchase a Nail for you from this very shop. Any that you desire—” He glanced at some of the huge, wicked-looking weapons. “—within reason, that is. Are you interested in such a deal?”

Like an overturned Pilflip, Hornet transitioned from scuttling despair to bounding felicity. “What? Really? Really!? I can have a Nail!?”

Lurien inclined his head. “Yes, but _only_ if you reveal yourself to be a true grown-up. Can you achieve this? For an _entire_ week?”

“Oh, definitely! It’ll be easy!”

Something in Lurien doubted that very much, but he did not voice it. “Very well. We have penned a new agreement, and from hence forth we will adhere to it.”

“Of course,” Hornet said. “I’ll show you just how grown up I can be!”

With the calamity averted, Lurien could feel the tension between his shoulders unknitting. He was beginning to understand why the King had been so desperate to cede responsibility to him. It was likely a far less arduous task to rule a kingdom than it was to supervise an insubordinate child.

But as Lurien congratulated himself on another job well done, a doubt fluttered at his peripheries.

There was some crisis… some other matter of importance… If only he could—

“The Vessel!” Lurien barked. “Quickly, girl! We haven’t any more time!”

Hornet laughed. “Oh, right! I forgot.”

Lurien grabbed a clawful of Hornet’s cloak and dragged her out into the pouring rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a tad delayed. Sorry about that. The chapter ended up being significantly longer than I anticipated. Hopefully it turned out well, but I'm afraid that it starts to unravel near the end.
> 
> But anyway, I hope you enjoyed. Please throw me a comment if you're so inclined. I adore feedback, especially constructive criticism.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lurien and Hornet set out in search of the missing Vessel, with only one ridiculous hint to guide them.

“Quit pulling!” Hornet shouted. “My mother made this! You’re going to stretch it!”

The bug child’s voice rose high and frail, but the perpetual din of the trade district drowned out her protests long before they reached Lurien.

The Watcher maintained his grip on Hornet’s cloak as though it were the reins of an obdurate stag nymph. He bustled through the ever-shifting maze of a hundred other bodies, his focus darting from shell to shell.

This was not good. Not good at all.

Lurien cursed himself for his negligence. He had been so certain of the Vessel’s unshakable obedience. If he had only spared a _single_ backward glance during the pursuit, then this all would have been avoided! How could he have been so foolish? The Vessel was clearly abnormal. He should have accounted for that! Now, without the faintest clue on where to—

Hornet yanked her cloak free. “I told you to let go!” she screeched. “I’m a grown-up, right? I can walk on my own!”

Lurien staggered to a stop and about-faced. “I have misplaced you once already this evening!” he shouted. “That will not happen a second time! If you truly wish to exemplify adulthood, then remain by my side as I search for the Vessel. I cannot allow—” but his words caught.

Their brief spat had attracted attention. A pocket had formed in the crowd—with he and Hornet on patent display in its center. Dozens of curious eyes peeked out from beneath hoods and umbrellas, boring into him.

With a nervous chuckle, Lurien took Hornet by the claw and ushered her out of the flood of foot traffic. There was an untended cart parked beside a building, and Lurien sidled close, hoping that it would serve as a barrier against further scrutiny. “Heed me, child,” he said, “the Vessel is of great importance to the King. If we do not locate it in time, then any number of misfortunes might occur. It could be swept into a storm drain, or trampled in the street, or captured by vagabonds, or—!” He paused, taking a moment to stamp out the flames of rising panic.

Hornet shrugged and giggled. “Spirit is fine. You don’t need to be scared. They’ll come back eventually. They probably just heard some music they liked and wandered off.”

Lurien lurched. “What?”

“Did you not know?” Hornet mimed at sawing on a violin. “Spirit loves music!”

“That is not even possible…”

“It is so!” She twirled in the grip of some imaginary song. “Back at the White Palace the musician bugs have performances all the time, with drums and funny metal horns and silken strings. Whenever they start playing for those stuffy nobles, Spirit always runs off to listen. Even when we’re in the middle of a game!”

Lurien thought to voice more denial but he had no such luxury of time. Though Hornet’s notion seemed tenuous—ridiculous even—it was their only clue. “Allowing that what you say may be true… what variety of music attracts the Vessel? Could it be something as elementary as a wind chime?”

“No, no,” Hornet shook her head. “Nothing like that. It must be pretty music, _beautiful_ music! And it could be very far away. Spirit has great hearing!”

Lurien wrung his claws and paced beside the cart. “Very well. If beauty is what we seek, then the Vessel can be in but one place. Let us depart.”

“Okay!”

And they set out, toward the burnished, wide-flung gates of the arts district.

It had been quite a while since Lurien’s last visit. He had attended some nonsensical, operatic production at the repeated invitation of the City’s nobility. He recalled the pomp and presumption of the evening, the stag-drawn carriages, the flower-petal carpets, the menagerie of jewelry. It had soured his taste for music so entirely that he’d pledged never to return. But here he was, once again, strolling the troubadour-choked streets and attempting to differentiate the turmoil of a dozen different songs. Music of all texture and color spilled through open windows and over banisters, eddying, rain-like, upon the cobbles.

Lurien stopped in a plaza decorated with hanging bells. He gestured for Hornet to do the same and then massaged his temples. The warble of so many instruments was beginning to induce a headache.

As Lurien had expected, the Vessel was nowhere in sight. Music lounge after music lounge flanked the district’s main thoroughfare and diminished into the murk. It would take hours—days—to fully scour the place.

“We arrive at the melodic heart of the City,” Lurien reflected, “but beautiful music is in such abundance… Any among these songs may have attracted the Vessel.”

Hornet swayed in rhythm with the different tunes, speeding or slowing as she switched from one tempo to the next. “I mean, these are nice, but they aren’t _beautiful_.”

A chuckle escaped Lurien almost without his notice. “Such a bold claim for one so young. Do you think yourself qualified to make that distinction?”

“Well,” Hornet hesitated. “Maybe I do! I’ve probably heard more music than you have. The White Palace is full of it, and I’ve been there for a long time.”

“Is that so?” Lurien laughed. “You are a _connoisseur_ then? It slipped my notice that I was accompanying such a distinguished figure.”

“Yes, that’s right! I’m a c-connoisseur. Definitely!”

Lurien gave a theatrical nod. “In that case, perhaps it is best that you lead the way. Your refined senses will serve as a better guide.”

“Alright, I will!” Hornet said. “Just watch, finding Spirit will be easy.”

“I have the utmost confidence,” Lurien said as he fell in step.

They set off down the thoroughfare, pausing every block so that Hornet could listen.

But inevitably, the ironic mirth bottomed out, and Lurien plunged into the evident truth. He was doomed. Utterly and completely doomed. The Vessel was gone. There would be no recovering it.

Lurien’s flawless record of service was ruined, with a blemish so severe that there could be no redemption. Though he knew that Vessels were not… uncommon, this one clearly bore some great significance to the King. Its loss would herald the end of Lurien’s employ.

He wondered what the punishment would be. Execution was doubtful; the King lacked the necessary brutality for it. Dismissal was far more likely, but to Lurien’s eye there was little difference between the two. He entertained the possibility of banishment, and to his surprise, it did not seem so miserable. It had been an age since he last traveled the world; much must have changed. The distant kingdom of Pharloom was said to be a beautiful place. Were he to visit, then it might even rekindle his interest in music…

“Lurien? Hey, Lurien? Lurien!”

The Watcher jolted from his reverie.

Hornet waved a claw in his face. “Are you there?”

“Hmm? Yes?” Lurien gently pushed her claw aside.

“I found it!” Hornet squealed.

“Found what?”

“The most beautiful music in the whole district!”

“Oh, right. Of course.”

He glanced about, attempting to retrieve his bearings. The girl had dragged him halfway across the district. They stood before a soaring tower of over a dozen stories. Stately balconies and domed glass windows protruded from its surfaces. At ground level was a gilded, triangular door, beside which sat a sign. This stirred a vague remembrance in Lurien. He walked over to gain a closer look. In runny, white paint, the sign read _Pleasure House_.

Here again? It seemed he was fated to revisit this building. Though, it looked different without the carpet of flowers and the shifting sea of aristocrats. He heard a haunting voice from somewhere far above, and it sent a shiver down his shell.

“Let’s go inside,” Hornet said. “I’m sure we’ll find Spirit in there!”

“Indeed…”

The foyer of the tower was warm and softly-lit, with an open-faced elevator at the far side. Lumafly lanterns and luxurious curtains of dyed silk hung from the ceiling. Three nobles, each wearing a polished silver brooch, stood beside a bulletin board and chattered among themselves in that accent unique to the upper-class.

Lurien wiped his umbrella dry before snapping it shut. He supposed that its purchase had been a wise choice, after all. Only the very bottoms of his robes were even damp. He turned to Hornet to comment on this but was immediately pelted by a barrage of droplets.

Hornet was shaking herself like an angered Mosscreep. Hours of accumulated rainwater shot in every direction, speckling the walls, the curtains, the nobles. Him.

“Stop! Cease! This very instant!” Lurien howled. He made a futile attempt to shield himself but became soaked in moments.

After one last, violent spasm, Hornet stilled. She planted her claws on her hips and appraised the now-dripping room as if all was well. “It’s nice in here,” she observed.

“Have you forsaken our new agreement already?! In what aspect was that a _grown-up_ way to behave?!”

Hornet flinched. “No, wait! That wasn’t on purpose! I just forgot! I’ll—I’ll fix it!” She ran to the nearest curtain and dabbed at it with her cloak. Both fabrics were equally wet, rendering it a fruitless gesture.

The trio of nobles stared nails at Hornet from across the room. Lurien suspected their response would have been far harsher had he not been present.

“Those curtains will dry on their own,” Lurien said, “but you would be wise to atone for your transgression against those nobles. They have long memories for such slights.”

Hornet gave Lurien a puzzled look.

“Say that you are sorry,” Lurien clarified. “It is what a grown-up would do.”

“Right, okay!” Hornet trotted over to the nobles and dipped into a surprisingly elegant curtsy. “My sincerest apologies, noblebugs,” she said, her inflection eerily like the White Lady’s. “I meant no offense.”

The nobles grumbled something incomprehensible and then piled into the foyer’s elevator. Though there was sufficient room to accommodate Lurien and Hornet, one of the nobles pulled the elevator’s lever. With a jangle of chains, the elevator vanished, leaving the pair behind.

Hornet overbalanced, flopping to the floor. She propped herself on her arms and stared up the darkened elevator shaft. “That was rude,” she mumbled. “They didn’t even forgive me. I did the curtsy and everything…”

Lurien helped Hornet back to her feet. “I must admit, it was a valiant effort,” he said. “Your manner was positively genteel. Has the White Lady been instructing you on courtly behavior?”

“Yes,” Hornet sighed. She wiped her claws on her cloak. “It’s really boring. And it didn’t even work!”

Lurien patted her shoulder as they waited for the elevator to finish its rattling circuit. “You will find the nobility to be a _unique_ challenge. Do not spurn the Lady’s lessons over a single failure. Decorum is the only means of dealing with this ilk.”

Hornet made an indifferent noise and went off to explore the peripheries of the foyer. She paused before the same bulletin board that had attracted the nobles’ attention. It stood twice her height and depicted a bug with vibrant pink wings and a scarlet dress. One of the bug’s arms was extended upward, drawing attention to the caption overhead.

_Songstress Marissa. A voice to ease all burdens and still all troubled minds._

“She’s pretty,” Hornet whispered.

Lurien walked over. “Quite so. That striking presence has earned her significant prestige in the arts district.” A recollection bubbled up and he snorted. “Let us hope that she will not be in-costume should our paths cross.”

The elevator returned, mercifully empty, and they stepped inside.

“What do you mean?” Hornet asked. She yanked the lever and they ascended.

“When last I beheld the Songstress, it was during an opera at this very building. It was a three-act piece called _‘The Vision of the King_ ’ that portrayed several events in His life—the founding of Hallownest, the truce with the Mantis Tribe, the courting of the Queen. In the third act during the courting, the Queen was played by the Songstress herself. At what I can only assume was the director’s behest, she entered the stage in a farcical garb meant to simulate the Lady’s features. It was an immediate disaster. The shellwood headdress caught in the stage curtain, and the silk strips of the gown tangled the Songstress’ feet. She could not even complete her aria before losing balance and tumbling into the orchestra.” Lurien stifled a chuckle. “The King, the Queen, and I were all presented invitations to that opera, but only I found the time to attend. Surely, that was for the best…”

Hornet crossed her arms. “It’s not nice to laugh. And you know, it’s harder to walk in that gown than it looks. The Lady let me wear it once—well, part of it—and I tripped on the very first step! Me! You know I have great balance!”

‘ _Great_ ’ did not seem like the most felicitous adjective, but Lurien did not contend the matter.

“Besides,” Hornet continued. “Haven’t you tripped in those robes before? It must not have seemed very funny to you.”

A series of memories tumbled through Lurien’s mind. Staircases taken far more quickly than intended. Door frames that seemed ever-hungry for trailing silk. A protruding rivet on an elevator that left him bare-shelled before a mob of onlookers.

“Yes, well…” Lurien coughed, and an awkward moment crawled by. With a clang, the elevator came to a stop. “It seems that we have arrived!” he blurted. “Keep your senses about you. The Vessel may be near.” And he bustled her into a connecting hallway.

Their path led them into another foyer, this one even more richly-appointed than the last. Its most prominent feature was a ticket booth embedded in the far wall. Several nobles were lined up before it, exchanging clawfuls of Geo for tickets of silk.

Beyond an archway adjacent to the booth came the disordered sound of instruments readying for a performance. The nobles shuffled through in their approximation of haste, disappearing into the dark of a much larger room.

Hornet skipped ahead and rested her chin on the booth’s counter. “Two, please!”

The clerk on the other side sniffed and adjusted a stack of tickets. “Another sopping waif seeking respite from the rain? Charming.”

“‘Waif’?” Hornet cocked her head. “No, I’m here for the music!”

“Oh, pardon.” The clerk plucked a ticket free and dangled it like a succulent fruit. “All are welcome, so long as they possess the Geo. Have you any?”

Hornet rummaged in her cloak, but no Geo emerged. “Not right now, but I _did_.”

“A pity. Move along.” The clerk waved in Hornet’s direction as though she were a foul vapor in need of dispersing.

“But I have to get inside!” Hornet protested. “It’s important!”

The clerk heaved a shrug. “Perhaps by the next performance you will have scrounged the City’s gutters for the necessary capital. Until then, however…”

“But—But—But—” Hornet coiled and uncoiled the tassel of the toy nail, her gaze darting between the clerk and the archway.

Lurien strode over to stand behind Hornet.

“I have already _requested_ that you move along, waif,” the clerk continued. “You are wasting time, mine and that of the next patron. At the very least, step aside so that they—” The clerk looked up. “Watcher… Lurien?”

“The very same,” Lurien said with a grave nod. “Is my ward proving a vexation to you? I should hope not.”

“Your ward?” The clerk asked. “No… No, n-not at all! I was about to provide her a ticket to the performance—without charge, of course.”

“That’s not what you said,” Hornet quavered. “ _You said_ that I—”

The clerk made several rapid, placating sounds and handed Hornet a silk ticket.

Hornet hummed dubiously but voiced no other dissent.

“You are most generous,” Lurien said.

“No.” The clerk shook her head. “You are the truly generous one. We thank you for accepting this invitation.” She pressed a ticket into Lurien’s claw.

Lurien paused to consider the clerk’s meaning, but Hornet took him by the arm and tugged.

“Come on!” Hornet said. “The show is about to begin!”

“Need I remind you that our intent is to locate the Vessel?”

“We can do both.”

Lurien allowed himself to be conducted through the archway and into the next room.

There was not much to see in the dark, but assorted scents of exquisite food drifted through the smoky air. Lurien’s sight gradually adjusted, and he recognized the soft glow of candlelight. Encircling the room were dozens of tables, each topped with a candle of its own. Nobles of every social rank and order of girth crowded around these tables, gorging on steamed meats and seasoned mushrooms. Lurien groaned, and the pleasing twitter of musical instruments fell deaf on his senses.

“It’s so dark,” Hornet whispered. “How are we supposed to see Marissa?”

“Again, I will remind you that our purpose is to retrieve the Vessel. If we are so astronomically fortunate as to find it here, then we will be departing immediately after. It is well-past time I returned to the Spire.”

“Oh.” Hornet’s silhouette deflated. “Okay.”

With the slithering sound of drawn cloth, a sudden light bathed the room. Lurien flinched away from it, as did every other bug in attendance.

“It’s starting!” Hornet yipped.

A Lumafly spotlight embedded in the ceiling had been uncovered. It cast an unearthly, smoke-warped radiance onto an elevated platform at the room’s center. Circling the platform was an orchestra pit that bristled with metal and shellwood instruments like a well-stocked armory. Standing atop the platform, faithful to her bulletin’s depiction, was Marissa the Songstress. She lifted an arm over her head and then swept down into a low bow that sent her golden hair tumbling. “Welcome, esteemed patrons of the Pleasure House.” She straightened and then extended her arms outward in an encompassing manner. “You honor our establishment with your presence. It is our humble desire to attend to your needs, in both body and soul. I am Marissa, a songstress of some renown. For many years it has been my joy to perform before audiences much like—”

“Proceed!” A slovenly voice shouted from one of the tables. “Give us song, not blather!”

Marissa’s wings fluttered like startled Maskflies. “—like this one. With the aid of my expert accompanists, I will weave you the most splendid of songs. The inspiration for this piece arose from—”

“Sing, I say! Sing!”

Marissa took a deep breath and waved a claw at one of the musician bugs occupying the pit.

There was a low hum as instruments were readied, and the unending mastication of the feasting nobles lulled.

The song began with gentle plucks upon a harp, soft and slow at first, but rising into a resonant cascade that rebounded off the metal walls. The melody gamboled up and down the octaves, simulating the patter of rain. Out of this rose more instruments, strings, shellwoodwinds, and muted brass. They ebbed and flowed together in sublime harmony, so stirring that it caught the breath in Lurien’s chest. The song stretched just long enough for Marissa’s presence to fade from awareness, becoming as inconsequential as the bouquets of old flowers littering her feet. But at the most precise moment, she spread her wings wide like a painted sky and unleashed a perfect, crystalline note.

A murmur rippled through the audience.

There was no force in Marissa’s voice. It did not carve through the ensemble like a crude implement through hard earth, but instead merely possessed a numinous quality that allowed it to permeate the other sounds without destroying them.

The music was so ensorcelling that even the heaviest noble paused in their meal. For a fleeting minute, Marissa was true to her epithet: a voice to ease all burdens and still all troubled minds.

Lurien felt a tug on his robes and looked down at Hornet’s outline. The ambient bloom of the Lumafly spotlight made it slightly easier to see. The girl was pendulating with Marissa’s every utterance.

“I told you,” Hornet said. “Spirit only likes beautiful music.” She lifted her free claw and pointed.

There, cross-legged upon the stage, nail-umbrella resting on its lap, was the Vessel. It sat perfectly still among the bouquets, staring at Marissa with a rapt intensity not unlike that of every other bug in attendance.

Lurien jolted. He had not even noticed the Vessel clamber up. Just how long he’d been lost in the music? Lurien felt the urge to rush over and reclaim the Vessel like a dropped satchel of Geo. He crossed half the room before a second impulse slowed him: curiosity. There was something to be learned from this Vessel’s behavior, something that the King Himself might not have even known. Lurien stopped, allowing the situation to play out.

Inevitably, others noticed the sudden intrusion into the performance. Though the appearance of an overeager child onstage elicited some tittering, a general rumble of discontent ran through the crowd. Voices were raised. There were calls for the child to be removed, _immediately_.

Marissa seemed not to be bothered by the Vessel. She was either so taken by the flow of the song that she did not notice it, or simply did not care.

An usher ran up to the base of the stage and beckoned for the Vessel, cooing polite but emphatic words.

Lurien expected— _knew—_ that the Vessel would heed a direct, spoken command. It would rise and trot over to the usher, as obedient as it was designed to be. And yet…

The Vessel did not budge. It did not even tilt its head toward the usher. Marissa alone seemed to be the only object in its universe.

The song approached the climax, rising in both octave and decibel. Marissa flapped her wings to hover in the air, holding a single note so perfectly that the audience seemed to freeze within their shells. The harp plucked a wistful melody as Marissa let the note go and returned to the stage. Her shoulders sagged, but she still lifted an arm in her signature gesture and bowed low for the audience. The echoes faded, and silence flooded in to take their place.

None clapped, as if fearing to disturb the fragile tranquility. Eventually, the scrape of utensils on ceramic resumed and the song was forgotten.

Marissa rose from the bow and flinched at the sight of the Vessel sitting before her. She glanced over at the usher who was still calling to it. Marissa murmured something mellifluous before patting the Vessel on the head and turning to leave.

At that, the Vessel wobbled to its feet and finally assented to the usher’s pleas. It walked over and hopped off the stage without further incident.

“Baffling,” Lurien muttered. “What manner of Vessel disregards a command?”

Hornet laughed. “Spirit can be pretty stubborn sometimes, right?”

“‘ _Stubborn_ ’? Is that the word?”

Having seen enough, Lurien approached the stage. Hornet skipped after him, still humming the final few bars of Marissa’s song.

The usher was in the midst of a pointed—and utterly futile—interrogation. Question after question crashed and broke against the imperturbable bulwark of the Vessel’s gaze.

“Are you lost, young… _sir_? Did you arrive with your parents? Are they nearby? Can you… understand me?”

Lurien cleared his throat and tapped the usher’s shoulder. “That child is under my care. It appears to have disrupted the performance. I apologize.”

The usher turned and peered at Lurien, as though he had not understood.

Lurien began to repeat himself, but—

“You are Watcher Lurien!” the usher exclaimed.

“…Correct,” Lurien said.

“And you are here! At the Pleasure House!”

“Also correct…”

“At Marissa’s own performance!”

“Truly, you have cut to the heart of the matter.”

The usher seemed to recall himself and dipped into a formal bow. “It is most excellent to see you here, Watcher Lurien. Most excellent indeed! We feared after so many unanswered invitations that you had no interest in attending. But here you are! Marissa will be ecstatic. Shall I escort you to her quarters?”

“Her quarters?”

“Yes, Watcher.”

“ _The Songstress’_ quarters?”

“Y-Yes…?”

Lurien stared off into space and attempted to fathom what was happening. He had been expected? And several times, apparently. But why? The Songstress and he had never exchanged a single word. After that disastrous opera, he could not recall receiving any letters from the Pleasure House.

But something occurred to him.

He thought back to that event, and to the vehement complaints he had made to his attendants afterwards. How had he put it?

‘ _If I never behold another performance at that ridiculous place, then it will be too soon!’_

As understanding dawned, he cringed. It appeared that his attendants had taken his words to heart. He wondered just how many invitations they had turned away without even informing him.

“Marissa wants to see us?!” Hornet blared. “Really?”

The usher startled. “Erm, if you are a member of Watcher Lurien’s retinue, then yes, you are also welcome.”

“Did you hear that, Spirit?!” Hornet darted over to the Vessel and shook it by the shoulder. “We get to see the Songstress! Aren’t you excited?”

Lurien stopped mentally composing a stern speech to his attendants. “Wait, child. As generous as this offer may be, we have no time for conversation. It grows late, and I must find you sleeping accommodations within the Spire.”

“But we’re already here!” Hornet objected. “And I’m not even tired!”

“We have dawdled long enough. I warned you of this outcome.”

Hornet hugged her toy nail. “She invited us. Isn’t it rude not to say hello? That doesn’t seem like a very grown-up thing to do…”

Lurien scoffed. “Do not presume to lecture me on the etiquette of adulthood, little girl. Your behavior so far has done nothing to convince me that you are worthy of a real nail.”

“That’s mean! I’m doing my best!”

“If I may?” The usher clasped his claws together in a mollifying pose. “I understand that your obligations are quite pressing, Watcher, but Marissa’s desire to see you is not a passing whim. She has a proposal for you that I am certain she would rather deliver herself. Would you please reconsider? It will require only a few minutes of your time.”

“Yes!” Hornet said, sidling over to stand beside the usher. “Only a few minutes! We can at least do that, can’t we?”

A protracted grumble roiled about in Lurien’s throat. He had no stamina for these battles of will. Hornet was so irrepressible, as if the word _‘no’_ did not carry the slightest meaning. Perhaps this was how she had bested the King. “…Very well, then,” Lurien conceded. “We will speak with the Songstress…”

Hornet gave a cheer and leaped nearly twice her height into the air.

“But only a few minutes!” Lurien said. “No more.”

“Of course,” Hornet affirmed. “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took much longer than it should have, but I'm fairly pleased with the result. Thank you for reading thus far. I appreciate you sticking around. If you feel so inclined, then please leave a comment. I particularly appreciate critical feedback, but anything will do.
> 
> Thanks again to my beta readers: AlphaAquilae, Meneil, and BottomKek


End file.
